Time Lasts Forever, A Vampire's Perspective (Feeling)

12 hour shifts. I come in as the sun is setting to relieve Russ. His shirt is sky blue and covered in black powder with sweat stains around each arm pit, neck and back. The front of his jeans have the same powdery look from moving chunks of dirty steel. Darker spots are located on his thighs and knees. Even his hands, arms and scruffy face are covered. The only "clean" spot is the back of his jeans. There's no sitting down at this job.

He gives me a quick run-down and finally gets to go home. He scrubs arms up to the elbows and rinses his face. This is how he looks at the end of the day. Dirty, sweaty and obviously exhausted by the way he lumbers towards the door.

For the next 12 hours I run the machine for the same exact part. Cut. Clean. Reload. Cut. Clean. Reload. After a while I lose track of how many I've cut and have to stop just to re-count the parts. 3,527.  Every 10 minutes there's another load done. A flat, clean sheet of cold rolled steel goes in and 30 parts come out. Cut. Clean. Reload. The newest revision of Webster's Dictionary is going to have this listed under "tedious".

tedious [ˈtiːdɪəs]

adj

1. causing fatigue or tedium; monotonous

2. progressing very slowly

3. cutting the same sheet of metal over and over again for hours on end

tediously  adv

tediousness  n

After lunch is even worse. Only 300 more sheets to go. It feels like an eternity. The gratification of productivity is dwindled by the futility of actually completing something. 7 hours in and I forget what it was like to cut the first load. I estimate that I can only remember the last 10, but they all seem the same. The sun set hours ago, but it feels like 10AM. I keep waiting for it to come back up, but really I feel like I already missed it. Maybe my watch is broken. Maybe I worked into the weekend and didn't realize it. "Only a few more hours," I tell myself, "only a few more hours." Cut. Clean. Reload.

I must've zoned out. Not sure for how long, but there is light creeping in through the garage door opening. What the hell day is it? I think I came in on Wednesday. Or, was it Thursday? I can't remember. Too many days with not enough sleep. The fatigue is really getting to me.

After a few more sheets I see Russ prancing through the door. Smiling. Energized. His scruffy beard is gone. The small cuts and oily dirt stains on his hands have totally vanished. Clean white shirt and light blue jeans. No more bags under his eyes, his weariness has been completely erased. He seems like an entirely different person.

They say that time is relative. I don't think that this is what they meant, but it's definitely true. I feel like a Vampire watching the ages go by. People change and I haven't even slept. I don't even feel hungry, I just want sustenance. A break. I want to just relax without just watching time go by.

Self loathing and boredom Part 1 (Fiction-ish)

The god-awful lingering taste of the Vanilla Absolut wasn't gonna be enough to quench my self destructive thirst at 3:15 on a Thursday morning, but it's the closest thing to the Pale as I was gonna find. I knew that I would need all the help I could get for this particular journey through the valley of the shadow of death. Who knows where I may end up when the sun peaks over the mountains. Dead? Alive? Even if I'm alive I don't want to recognize my surroundings. I've had enough of the familiar. The same four walls, the same music, the same magazines, the same bored and alone 3am.

Another shot. Another "that's god-awful" face. Slip on shoes, leather jacket, lift the door to close as I leave. Chilly outside. Stars. No moon, but dry. The alcohol laughs at the cold. This isn't Russia so the Vodka doesn't care.

I'd rather go straight to Hell as long as it's not boring, but maybe that's exactly what my Hell would be like. Maybe I'm already there. Dunno, but I'm gonna go do something interesting. Don't know what it is yet, but that's probably the only reason to do it.

By the time I realize I've been walking, I'm already on my way down town. My jeans feel frozen; like they were taken out of the wash machine and hung up in a meat locker, or a blizzard. Stiff and cold against hot skin.

I totally bypass all the main streets. I don't have that kind of money. Expensive junk to keep on the shelf and look pretty. I've got more than a house-full of stuff and I don't care if any of it looks pretty. It doesn't interest me. But the side streets have alleys and less proper businesses. Tattoo parlors, sex shops.

The concrete beneath my feet is the only thing that feels solid. I make a right turn down an alley way. What's the worst that could happen? Get Mugged? I don't have, or even look like I have anything worth taking.

Two people up on my left. The world spins a bit. Finally the Absolut is doing something. I think I see some skin, but I can't tell where or from who. The girl is almost completely flat-chested. Young, but too skinny. Definitely drugged out. She drops to her knees and faces away from me, towards the guy as I pass.

Maybe it's the scenery or maybe just the brisk walk as I pick up the pace, but my breath leaves a vapor trail as I walk by. The only sounds are the soft click-click of my heels and a slight slurping sound. Definitely not my destination. Not exactly at least. I'll skip the STD's thank you very much. I don't think I've ever been that bored.

I don't know if alcohol is the catalyst or is what has kept me from being here sooner. As I'm pondering this I realize I came in through the back door of this operation and the pimp is very unhappy that a potential pig is in between him and his whore. It's very ironic. He trusts her with total strangers until there is someone blocking his view.

There are so many obscenities screamed within the first 30 seconds that I can't even begin to count. "WTF?" as they say at work doesn't even begin to describe it.

"I'm just looking for a good time." I say.
"A block too early." I say.

He grins. A long-hair looking for a good time. Drunk. He smells fresh meat and saves the rest of his curses for one of his girls. The sonova bitch. But I need companionship more than I need to be a witness at a trial for prostitution. Funny how God has planned us. Deny our impulses and be saved!!!

The pimp grabs one of his girls by the arm, pushes her toward me and mentions something about stairs as he hikes his thumb over his shoulder. Either this guy has a strange, thick accent or I'm drunker than I thought. The girl looks me right in the eye for a split second then looks down and say's "C'mon" as she turns and leads me up the street. I wonder if she can tell how much I've had to drink as I follow the click-click of her high heels on the frozen pavement. She opens a metal and glass door to an apartment complex and the chilling frame stings against my burning fingers. She walks on her tip toes as we climb the stairs and I finally start to lose my nerve. What the hell am I doing here? I could be saving up money and leave this place or put that money towards college. Work at learning something instead of blowing it all in one night.

Yeah, but fuck that. Too much knowledge is what got me here to begin with. All the games at work to climb the company ladder makes all to much sense. It's when I act like the company man that I hate. You just have to be false. Act like them. Care about no one except your boss. Fuck them too.